


brocade

by pomme (manta)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged Up, Domestic, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, flower shops and food, though not at the same time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 08:30:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5532632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manta/pseuds/pomme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They wait silently, watching the night. Tadashi keeps his arm wrapped around Hitoka's slight shoulders. </p><p>The rain continues its torrent and the bulbs flicker; the world darkens, both inside and out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	brocade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dubstepbard (trashytalk)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashytalk/gifts).



> dubstepbard requested fluffy/domestic Yamayachi! Please enjoy, hope you like <3
> 
> Special thanks to my beta [Jun](http://archiveofourown.org/users/b_minor), Michi, and the Salt Squad for all the help and support!

* * *

_when the morning comes,_

* * *

 

“Okay, everything’s washed! Time to start chopping.”

“I’ll beat the eggs, then.”

“Before you start, can you pass me the knife?”

Rain is rarer at this time of year, and they speak a touch louder to hear one another. But the wintry gloom that saturates the sky hasn’t permeated into the warm apartment.

Tadashi pulls the silver knife, the one specifically reserved for vegetables, from its rack. He hands it over, handle side up, careful to point the blade away from them both.

“Thank you!” Hitoka chirps. Her smaller hand brushes over his as she takes it, and she grins at him. “One step closer to breakfast!”

“You’re unusually excited today,” Tadashi says. But he can’t help grinning back; her enthusiasm is infectious.

“I _am_ excited!” Hitoka immediately answers, without embarrassment. She shifts closer so they briefly connect at the torsos. “It’s been forever since we did this!”

 _This_ is standing side-by-side in their sizeable L-shaped kitchen- tastefully decorated in monochrome by Hitoka’s expert eye, with bulb shaped lamps providing colourful bursts of warmth. _This_ is facing a new day with the first meal, and facing the view from the safety of their apartment window. _This_ is the occasional brushing of arms and hands, of agreeable silences filled by the simultaneously comforting and frustrating scents wafting from a variety of appliances. _This_ is sitting down with satisfied sighs while waiting for dishes to finish themselves, and opening his arms to fit her against his side.

 _This_ is when Tadashi’s roots grow a little longer, reach deeper into the crevices, and he feels himself settling in.

He makes sure Hitoka’s paused her chopping rhythm, before sliding his hand around her waist. “I missed this,” he says.

And she beams up at him, dressed in sleep shorts and one of Tadashi’s faded university shirts that shrank in the wash. It’s far from the carefully chosen, matching strawberry printed pajamas she wore the first time they ever made breakfast together, roommates in an apartment complex with fellow students. He spent high school nursing the pitfalls of a crush, only for it to bloom into something more in university; fortunately, the embarrassing side effects, mostly the stuttering (especially the stuttering) only lasted during his adolescence.

But Tadashi prefers the way Hitoka looks now, uncombed hair framing her face and the sleep not yet rubbed from her eyes. That’s the result of knowing each other from necessity- from sharing classes together, living together, and realizing they had similar study habits (start early, outline, instrumental music only, and _always_ colour code).

His heart thumped along the thuds of the volleyballs, and he was afraid he was giving himself away. He saw more of her, learned her annoyance when her project partners skimped on work, her fastidiousness getting on his own nerves, and her tears when she argued with her mother. The rapid beat in Tadashi's chest didn’t subside any less; even now it hammers on, and Tadashi wonders if it will continue to pound as long as he lives. He’s quite all right with that, if it means he’ll beat in tandem with the blood that rushes into Hitoka’s flushed cheeks.

“You look so cute like that,” she says, when the stoves are switched off and their plates are piled high with Western-style food. She lifts her forkful of scrambled eggs.

“Like what?”

She grins. “Your hair tied back. With my hair tie.”

“Oh, yeah. I wanted to get my bangs out of the way.” He tugs at the star shaped decoration a little self-consciously. “I really need to get a haircut this weekend.”

“If only you could grow your hair out,” Hitoka sighs.

“I’d like to keep my job,” Tadashi reminds her, and leans forward to tuck some unruly golden strands away from her mouth.

“And you love it. I’ll never understand how you love accounting, but I'm happy for you.” She spears a damp hash brown (besides fries, another soggy form of potato which Tadashi is also fond of), and puts it on his plate. “How’s the new client?”

“From his one visit to the office, he rubbed three people the wrong way _and_ got scolded by my boss. He doesn’t even work in the building!”

Hitoka laughs. "And his business partner's coming by my office tomorrow for logo ideas. What sort of person would work with a guy like that?"

"Anyone who'll work with Futakuchi Kenji is a saint, or cut from the same mold he is."

"Futakuchi?" Hitoka blinks, then frowns at her ham. "That sounds familiar."

"Does it? I thought it was just me."

"I thought his partner's name sounds familiar too," she says thoughtfully. "Aone Takanobu?"

"It is. Huh."

They sit in silence for a while, contemplatively chewing at their breakfasts. Then, they sit up at the same time as they shout at the same time, "Datekou!"

"They were known as The Iron Wall, right?" The memories are rushing back, the more Tadashi thinks. "Green and white, with amazing defense? I was captain the year Aone was. What was their cheer again?"

"It was like, 'Go go, let's go, let's go, Datekou!'" Hitoka giggles, pumping her left arm to demonstrate. "I wonder how Futakuchi would react if you yelled that during a meeting."

"Chant along, if I'm lucky. It's too catchy _not_ to say in your sleep."

Hitoka peers at the digits on the microwave, jumps, and herds him out of the kitchen. "You'd better get dressed, or you won't say anything to him at all!"

Tadashi pulls off his old blue shirt and sleep shorts, and wears his work attire- black pressed pants, pressed blue collared shirt with the missing button on the bottom, black tie that Hitoka taught him how to put on, black socks, black coat.

He hears the dishes clattering over the running water. Through the noise Hitoka's humming the strings-infused ballad on the radio that woke them up this morning, and Tadashi grins. He pads into the living room and into the doorway, slipping on his shoes just as Hitoka follows him over.

"See you tonight!" She hands Tadashi his bento, which she's packed away in an insulated lunch bag. "Don't forget we have dinner plans! We're meeting up-"

"-at Ikebukuro at six o'clock, outside the subway turnstiles. Right?"

His prompt reply makes her smile. "Take your time. Don't rush," she tells him like always, passing him his briefcase and the clear umbrella hanging off of the shoe cabinet. It's a mantra they've been saying more recently as of late, given their shared inclination to speed up out of panic. And it's particularly easy to get swept away in the urban rush, if they're not paying attention.

It's torture, leaving this haven to head into the bitter cold. "If only _I_ could work at home sometimes," Tadashi sighs, and musses up Hitoka's hair.

She squeaks in annoyance. But she stays still to let him comb her hair back into an acceptable state with his fingers, catches his hand, tugs. Tadashi stoops, and Hitoka kisses him: first under his left eye, right on the freckle she's settled on as her favorite, and then softly on the mouth.

As he brings her close, Tadashi catches the scent of warm vanilla. She hugs him hard, and he breathes in.

 

* * *

_the evening,_

* * *

 

Hitoka's already at their meeting spot by the time Tadashi arrives. He's about fifteen minutes late, and she checks her phone anxiously. "Let's go," he says, leading the way towards the right subway exit.

She opens her mouth, no doubt to ask how work was, how did the meeting with Futakuchi go? But he's only holding the briefcase and lunch bag in his hand, and she immediately catches what's missing. "Where's the umbrella?"

"You didn't bring one?"

"I thought you'd bring yours. I wore my raincoat here."

"The sky cleared up by the time I left work," Tadashi explains. They're almost at the elevator, and nearly out of the city's grey underbelly. "I thought it'd be good to have an umbrella at the office, anyway."

"It's been overcast all day. It rained this morning." Hitoka's voice and heels click sharply against the tiles. " What if it rains again?"

"I don't feel anything," Tadashi retorts. They're trotting along the sidewalk now, and he goes slower out of habit to match Hitoka's step.

"I felt a drop hit my head just now," she insists.

"We're almost there," Tadashi says, a little tersely, and they don't say anything more until they step inside the brightly lit ramen restaurant.

"Irasshaimase!" the staff chorus.

"Hey, over here! Hitoka, Tadashi!"

Kaori's waving with both arms over her head, grinning so widely it's hard not to return her enthusiasm. She wraps them in warm hugs once they reach her.

Shimizu lights up, smiling in the way that only Hitoka brings out in her. Tadashi makes a beeline straight for Kei with a boyishly enthusiastic "Tsukki!"; Kei, in turn, nods at Hitoka and tries not to let on how pleased he is to see his best friend.

Together they initially seem like an odd party of five, cobbled together from busy schedules that just happened to match. But they're the sort of group that don't mind quiet, and make a pleasant enough noise to both converse and think in. Most of the time, anyway.

"Had quite the blast at work!" Kaori says cheerfully, resuming the conversation where it had apparently left off.

"What happened?" Hitoka asks, looking unsure whether she wants to know or not. Passionate though she is, Kaori's work stories are sometimes questionable in their appropriateness for the occasions in which she tells them.

"Well," and Kaori's eyes shine with unfiltered enthusiasm, "we got a fresh shipment of blood samples for testing! But the pressure in my tube was much higher than normal for some reason- something went wrong when taking the sample, I guess. Anyway, you can imagine what happened when I opened the tube! It was like a crime scene straight out of-"

Tadashi and Kei snort behind their hands when Hitoka shifts a smidge away from Kaori. Tadashi knows Hitoka's extremely thankful she heads a design company, and not Kaori's microbiology lab.

Shimizu turned heads in high school just from walking down the hallway; now, she easily commands an entire room's attention, and ignores all of it. "Hitoka, what do you recommend?" she asks, angling herself away from the staring waiter.

"I always get the Shio ramen, the broth is delicious!" Hitoka says, and Shimizu smiles again when she orders it, making Hitoka feel like a giddy schoolgirl.

Later, the group say their goodbyes. Tadashi and Hitoka leave in a direction away from the rest; they're not quite back on good terms yet, and Hitoka's quiet for a spell.

“Shimizu-san’s becoming more and more beautiful,” she says, a hint wistful.

Hitoka's not looking at Tadashi, her eyes trained at the lights lining the street. But Tadashi looks at Hitoka- impeccably dressed in navy leggings, boots, and cardigan. He thinks about short blonde hair, now long enough to tumble halfway down her back if it isn't in its loose updo, brown eyes that have remained wide and earnest, and her small, determined chin that squared itself the first time he saw her.

His words are murmured quietly. They're meant only for Hitoka's ears, which flush bright red, and she buries her face in her hands. A businesswoman she's become, but Tadashi's learned that nothing works better on her than unadorned honesty.

“So are you."

 

* * *

_and the night._

* * *

 

The rain generously waits until Tadashi and Hitoka are halfway down the street, before arriving in a full, fine mist.  
  
Hitoka takes his hand and leads them along at a fast pace toward the nearest store that's still open and lit. Tadashi hears her sigh next to him; she was right about the rain, but she says nothing more about it.

They enter a cramped but spotless flower shop, with large windows and flowers in metal pots stacked on the shelves in the increasingly higher rows. Some plants almost reach the ceiling, while other pots stand tall using a mishmash of items: rock columns with hollowed out troughs, wooden stumps supporting chipped gnomes and their vacant mushroom houses, long tom clay pots, hooks that tether pots at suspended heights or provide the start for vines to snake their way to the floor.

The plants hang so thickly they form an indoor rainforest of sorts, their canopy dimming the light bulbs from properly illuminating the merchandise. Raindrops on the windows refract onto Hitoka's face and for a moment, she has freckles like Tadashi's.

"If it's still raining in fifteen minutes, let's sprint to the 7-Eleven and buy one of those flimsy umbrellas," she murmurs.

"All right," Tadashi agrees. He watches her wipe down his bag and then hers with tissues, and grins a little.

"What?" She catches it out of the corner of her eye, and pauses to glance up from her work.

"Dark, quiet, raining - we started this morning the same way." He sheepishly rubs the back of his head, and grins down at her. "We're just a bit wetter this time. That's my fault."

Hitoka smiles too, hesitantly at first and then wider. "We didn't _quite_ start the same way! We're missing one important thing."

She steps lightly over to him and slots herself against his side again, like they stood at the kitchen counter. The action would have been awkward bumps and painful grinding of bone against bone a long time ago, when they were too young and flustered to know what to do with their limbs. But Tadashi bends his knees slightly in a learned motion and they lean their heads together for a moment.

They wait silently, watching the night. Tadashi keeps his arm wrapped around Hitoka's slight shoulders. The rain continues its torrent and the bulbs flicker; the world darkens, both inside and out.

The elderly florist bustles about, wrapping items in plastic and sponging away water in the damper parts of the store. She stays a respectful distance, all the while keeping a careful eye on them, and Tadashi feels rude for not buying anything. They really should purchase something, he thinks, as appreciation for her allowing them to take shelter here.

“We’d like that bouquet, please,” Hitoka says to the florist, pointing to the display behind the checkout desk. "To the left... the one with beige paper... Yes, the red roses!"

When Hitoka's finished the purchase, they look at the scene outside once more: still deserted, save for the occasional umbrella-wielding passers by, still sodden.

Tadashi takes the bouquet from Hitoka's arms. He pauses.

Then, he chooses just one stem- half bloomed, thorns sheared - and presses it to her heart.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Brocade: "a rich fabric woven with a raised pattern, typically with gold or silver thread."
> 
> The lyric weaved throughout is from Talain Rayne's [Lemonbright*](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SZF6dvGCFhk). I think the song's quite Yamayachi, in particular the opening line ("two birds, sitting on the telephone"), and the chorus ("when the morning comes, the evening, and the night/for oh, you are my lemonbright").


End file.
